“What do you want?”
The reporter answered in an equally sharp tone:
“To shake you by the hand.”
Darzac shrank back.
“What does that mean?”
Evidently he understood, what I also understood, that my friend suspected him of the abominable7 attempt on the life of Mademoiselle Stangerson. The impression of the blood-stained hand on the walls of The Yellow Room was in his mind. I looked at the man closely. His haughty8 face with its expression ordinarily so straightforward9 was at this moment strangely troubled. He held out his right hand and, referring to me, said:
“As you are a friend of Monsieur Sainclair who has rendered me invaluable10 services in a just cause, monsieur, I see no reason for refusing you my hand—”
Rouletabille did not take the extended hand. Lying with the utmost audacity11, he said:
“Monsieur, I have lived several years in Russia, where I have acquired the habit of never taking any but an ungloved hand.”
I thought that the Sorbonne professor would express his anger openly, but, on the contrary, by a visibly violent effort, he calmed himself, took off his gloves, and showed his hands; they were unmarked by any cicatrix.
“Are you satisfied?”
“No!” replied Rouletabille. “My dear friend,” he said, turning to me, “I am obliged to ask you to leave us alone for a moment.”
I bowed and retired12; stupefied by what I had seen and heard. I could not understand why Monsieur Robert Darzac had not already shown the door to my impertinent, insulting, and stupid friend. I was angry myself with Rouletabille at that moment, for his suspicions, which had led to this scene of the gloves.
For some twenty minutes I walked about in front of the chateau, trying vainly to link together the different events of the day. What was in Rouletabille’s mind? Was it possible that he thought Monsieur Robert Darzac to be the murderer? How could it be thought that this man, who was to have married Mademoiselle Stangerson in the course of a few days, had introduced himself into The Yellow Room to assassinate13 his fiancee? I could find no explanation as to how the murderer had been able to leave The Yellow Room; and so long as that mystery, which appeared to me so inexplicable14, remained unexplained, I thought it was the duty of all of us to refrain from suspecting anybody. But, then, that seemingly senseless phrase—“The presbytery has lost nothing of its charm, nor the garden its brightness”—still rang in my ears. What did it mean? I was eager to rejoin Rouletabille and question him.
At that moment the young man came out of the chateau in the company of Monsieur Robert Darzac, and, extraordinary to relate, I saw, at a glance, that they were the best of friends. “We are going to The Yellow Room. Come with us,” Rouletabille said to me. “You know, my dear boy, I am going to keep you with me all day. We’ll breakfast together somewhere about here—”
“You’ll breakfast with me, here, gentlemen—”
“No, thanks,” replied the young man. “We shall breakfast at the Donjon Inn.”
“You’ll fare very badly there; you’ll not find anything—”
“Do you think so? Well, I hope to find something there,” replied Rouletabille. “After breakfast, we’ll set to work again. I’ll write my article and if you’ll be so good as to take it to the office for me—”
“Won’t you come back with me to Paris?”
“No; I shall remain here.”
I turned towards Rouletabille. He spoke15 quite seriously, and Monsieur Robert Darzac did not appear to be in the least degree surprised.
We were passing by the donjon and heard wailing16 voices. Rouletabille asked:
“Why have these people been arrested?”
“It is a little my fault,” said Monsieur Darzac. “I happened to remark to the examining magistrate17 yesterday that it was inexplicable that the concierges had had time to hear the revolver shots, to dress themselves, and to cover so great a distance as that which lies between their lodge18 and the pavilion, in the space of two minutes; for not more than that interval19 of time had elapsed after the firing of the shots when they were met by Daddy Jacques.”
“That was suspicious evidently,” acquiesced20 Rouletabille. “And were they dressed?”
“That is what is so incredible—they were dressed—completely—not one part of their costume wanting. The woman wore sabots, but the man had on laced boots. Now they assert that they went to bed at half-past nine. On arriving this morning, the examining magistrate brought with him from Paris a revolver of the same calibre as that found in the room (for he couldn’t use the one held for evidence), and made his Registrar21 fire two shots in The Yellow Room while the doors and windows were closed. We were with him in the lodge of the concierges, and yet we heard nothing, not a sound. The concierges have lied, of that there can be no doubt. They must have been already waiting, not far from the pavilion, waiting for something! Certainly they are not to be accused of being the authors of the crime, but their complicity is not improbable. That was why Monsieur de Marquet had them arrested at once.”
“If they had been accomplices22,” said Rouletabille, “they would not have been there at all. When people throw themselves into the arms of justice with the proofs of complicity on them, you can be sure they are not accomplices. I don’t believe there are any accomplices in this affair.”
“Then, why were they abroad at midnight? Why don’t they say?”
“They have certainly some reason for their silence. What that reason is, has to be found out; for, even if they are not accomplices, it may be of importance. Everything that took place on such a night is important.”
We had crossed an old bridge thrown over the Douve and were entering the part of the park called the Oak Grove23, The oaks here were centuries old. Autumn had already shrivelled their tawny24 leaves, and their high branches, black and contorted, looked like horrid25 heads of hair, mingled26 with quaint27 reptiles28 such as the ancient sculptors29 have made on the head of Medusa. This place, which Mademoiselle found cheerful and in which she lived in the summer season, appeared to us as sad and funereal30 now. The soil was black and muddy from the recent rains and the rotting of the fallen leaves; the trunks of the trees were black and the sky above us was now, as if in mourning, charged with great, heavy clouds.
And it was in this sombre and desolate31 retreat that we saw the white walls of the pavilion as we approached. A queer-looking building without a window visible on the side by which we neared it. A little door alone marked the entrance to it. It might have passed for a tomb, a vast mausoleum in the midst of a thick forest. As we came nearer, we were able to make out its disposition32. The building obtained all the light it needed from the south, that is to say, from the open country. The little door closed on the park. Monsieur and Mademoiselle Stangerson must have found it an ideal seclusion33 for their work and their dreams.
Here is the ground plan of the pavilion. It had a ground-floor which was reached by a few steps, and above it was an attic34, with which we need not concern ourselves. The plan of the ground-floor only, sketched35 roughly, is what I here submit to the reader.
The Yellow Room, with its one window and its one door opening into the laboratory.
Laboratory, with its two large, barred windows and its doors, one serving for the vestibule, the other for The Yellow Room.
Vestibule, with its unbarred window and door opening into the park.
Lavatory36.
Stairs leading to the attic.
Large and the only chimney in the pavilion, serving for the experiments of the laboratory.
The plan was drawn37 by Rouletabille, and I assured myself that there was not a line in it that was wanting to help to the solution of the problem then set before the police. With the lines of this plan and the description of its parts before them, my readers will know as much as Rouletabille knew when he entered the pavilion for the first time. With him they may now ask: How did the murderer escape from The Yellow Room? Before mounting the three steps leading up to the door of the pavilion, Rouletabille stopped and asked Monsieur Darzac point blank:
“What was the motive38 for the crime?”
“Speaking for myself, Monsieur, there can be no doubt on the matter,” said Mademoiselle Stangerson’s fiance, greatly distressed39. “The nails of the fingers, the deep scratches on the chest and throat of Mademoiselle Stangerson show that the wretch40 who attacked her attempted to commit a frightful41 crime. The medical experts who examined these traces yesterday affirm that they were made by the same hand as that which left its red imprint42 on the wall; an enormous hand, Monsieur, much too large to go into my gloves,” he added with an indefinable smile.
“Could not that blood-stained hand,” I interrupted, “have been the hand of Mademoiselle Stangerson who, in the moment of falling, had pressed it against the wall, and, in slipping, enlarged the impression?”
“There was not a drop of blood on either of her hands when she was lifted up,” replied Monsieur Darzac.
“We are now sure,” said I, “that it was Mademoiselle Stangerson who was armed with Daddy Jacques’s revolver, since she wounded the hand of the murderer. She was in fear, then, of somebody or something.”
“Probably.”
“Do you suspect anybody?”
“No,” replied Monsieur Darzac, looking at Rouletabille. Rouletabille then said to me:
“You must know, my friend, that the inquiry43 is a little more advanced than Monsieur de Marquet has chosen to tell us. He not only knows that Mademoiselle Stangerson defended herself with the revolver, but he knows what the weapon was that was used to attack her. Monsieur Darzac tells me it was a mutton-bone. Why is Monsieur de Marquet surrounding this mutton-bone with so much mystery? No doubt for the purpose of facilitating the inquiries44 of the agents of the Surete? He imagines, perhaps, that the owner of this instrument of crime, the most terrible invented, is going to be found amongst those who are well-known in the slums of Paris who use it. But who can ever say what passes through the brain of an examining magistrate?” Rouletabille added with contemptuous irony45.
“Has a mutton-bone been found in The Yellow Room?” I asked him.
“Yes, Monsieur,” said Robert Darzac, “at the foot of the bed; but I beg of you not to say anything about it.” (I made a gesture of assent46.) “It was an enormous mutton-bone, the top of which, or rather the joint47, was still red with the blood of the frightful wound. It was an old bone, which may, according to appearances, have served in other crimes. That’s what Monsieur de Marquet thinks. He has had it sent to the municipal laboratory at Paris to be analysed. In fact, he thinks he has detected on it, not only the blood of the last victim, but other stains of dried blood, evidences of previous crimes.”
“A mutton-bone in the hand of a skilled assassin is a frightful weapon,” said Rouletabille, “a more certain weapon than a heavy hammer.”
“The scoundrel has proved it to be so,” said Monsieur Robert Darzac, sadly. “The joint of the bone found exactly fits the wound inflicted48.
“My belief is that the wound would have been mortal, if the murderer’s blow had not been arrested in the act by Mademoiselle Stangerson’s revolver. Wounded in the hand, he dropped the mutton-bone and fled. Unfortunately, the blow had been already given, and Mademoiselle was stunned49 after having been nearly strangled. If she had succeeded in wounding the man with the first shot of the revolver, she would, doubtless, have escaped the blow with the bone. But she had certainly employed her revolver too late; the first shot deviated50 and lodged51 in the ceiling; it was the second only that took effect.”
Having said this, Monsieur Darzac knocked at the door of the pavilion. I must confess to feeling a strong impatience52 to reach the spot where the crime had been committed. It was some time before the door was opened by a man whom I at once recognised as Daddy Jacques.
He appeared to be well over sixty years of age. He had a long white beard and white hair, on which he wore a flat Basque cap. He was dressed in a complete suit of chestnut-coloured velveteen, worn at the sides; sabots were on his feet. He had rather a waspish-looking face, the expression of which lightened, however, as soon as he saw Monsieur Darzac.
“Friends,” said our guide. “Nobody in the pavilion, Daddy Jacques?”
“I ought not to allow anybody to enter, Monsieur Robert, but of course the order does not apply to you. These gentlemen of justice have seen everything there is to be seen, and made enough drawings, and drawn up enough reports—”
“Excuse me, Monsieur Jacques, one question before anything else,” said Rouletabille.
“What is it, young man? If I can answer it—”
“Did your mistress wear her hair in bands, that evening? You know what I mean—over her forehead?”
“No, young man. My mistress never wore her hair in the way you suggest, neither on that day nor on any other. She had her hair drawn up, as usual, so that her beautiful forehead could be seen, pure as that of an unborn child!”
Rouletabille grunted53 and set to work examining the door, finding that it fastened itself automatically. He satisfied himself that it could never remain open and needed a key to open it. Then we entered the vestibule, a small, well-lit room paved with square red tiles.
“Ah! This is the window by which the murderer escaped!” said Rouletabille.
“So they keep on saying, monsieur, so they keep on saying! But if he had gone off that way, we should have been sure to have seen him. We are not blind, neither Monsieur Stangerson nor me, nor the concierges who are in prison. Why have they not put me in prison, too, on account of my revolver?”
Rouletabille had already opened the window and was examining the shutters54.
“Were these closed at the time of the crime?”
“And fastened with the iron catch inside,” said Daddy Jacques, “and I am quite sure that the murderer did not get out that way.”
“Are there any blood stains?”
“Yes, on the stones outside; but blood of what?”
“Ah!” said Rouletabille, “there are footmarks visible on the path—the ground was very moist. I will look into that presently.”
“Nonsense!” interrupted Daddy Jacques; “the murderer did not go that way.”
“Which way did he go, then?”
“How do I know?”
Rouletabille looked at everything, smelled everything. He went down on his knees and rapidly examined every one of the paving tiles. Daddy Jacques went on:
“Ah!—you can’t find anything, monsieur. Nothing has been found. And now it is all dirty; too many persons have tramped over it. They wouldn’t let me wash it, but on the day of the crime I had washed the floor thoroughly55, and if the murderer had crossed it with his hobnailed boots, I should not have failed to see where he had been; he has left marks enough in Mademoiselle’s chamber56.”
Rouletabille rose.
“When was the last time you washed these tiles?” he asked, and he fixed57 on Daddy Jacques a most searching look.
“Why—as I told you—on the day of the crime, towards half-past five—while Mademoiselle and her father were taking a little walk before dinner, here in this room: they had dined in the laboratory. The next day, the examining magistrate came and saw all the marks there were on the floor as plainly as if they had been made with ink on white paper. Well, neither in the laboratory nor in the vestibule, which were both as clean as a new pin, were there any traces of a man’s footmarks. Since they have been found near this window outside, he must have made his way through the ceiling of The Yellow Room into the attic, then cut his way through the roof and dropped to the ground outside the vestibule window. But—there’s no hole, neither in the ceiling of The Yellow Room nor in the roof of my attic—that’s absolutely certain! So you see we know nothing—nothing! And nothing will ever be known! It’s a mystery of the Devil’s own making.”
Rouletabille went down upon his knees again almost in front of a small lavatory at the back of the vestibule. In that position he remained for about a minute.
“Well?” I asked him when he got up.
“Oh! nothing very important,—a drop of blood,” he replied, turning towards Daddy Jacques as he spoke. “While you were washing the laboratory and this vestibule, was the vestibule window open?” he asked.
“No, Monsieur, it was closed; but after I had done washing the floor, I lit some charcoal58 for Monsieur in the laboratory furnace, and, as I lit it with old newspapers, it smoked, so I opened both the windows in the laboratory and this one, to make a current of air; then I shut those in the laboratory and left this one open when I went out. When I returned to the pavilion, this window had been closed and Monsieur and Mademoiselle were already at work in the laboratory.”
“Monsieur or Mademoiselle Stangerson had, no doubt, shut it?”
“No doubt.”
“You did not ask them?”
After a close scrutiny59 of the little lavatory and of the staircase leading up to the attic, Rouletabille—to whom we seemed no longer to exist—entered the laboratory. I followed him. It was, I confess, in a state of great excitement. Robert Darzac lost none of my friend’s movements. As for me, my eyes were drawn at once to the door of The Yellow Room. It was closed and, as I immediately saw, partially60 shattered and out of commission.
My friend, who went about his work methodically, silently studied the room in which we were. It was large and well-lighted. Two big windows—almost bays—were protected by strong iron bars and looked out upon a wide extent of country. Through an opening in the forest, they commanded a wonderful view through the length of the valley and across the plain to the large town which could be clearly seen in fair weather. To-day, however, a mist hung over the ground—and blood in that room!
The whole of one side of the laboratory was taken up with a large chimney, crucibles61, ovens, and such implements62 as are needed for chemical experiments; tables, loaded with phials, papers, reports, an electrical machine,—an apparatus63, as Monsieur Darzac informed me, employed by Professor Stangerson to demonstrate the Dissociation of Matter under the action of solar light—and other scientific implements.
Along the walls were cabinets, plain or glass-fronted, through which were visible microscopes, special photographic apparatus, and a large quantity of crystals.
Rouletabille, who was ferreting in the chimney, put his fingers into one of the crucibles. Suddenly he drew himself up, and held up a piece of half-consumed paper in his hand. He stepped up to where we were talking by one of the windows.
“Keep that for us, Monsieur Darzac,” he said.
I bent64 over the piece of scorched65 paper which Monsieur Darzac took from the hand of Rouletabille, and read distinctly the only words that remained legible:
“Presbytery—lost nothing—charm, nor the gar—its brightness.”
Twice since the morning these same meaningless words had struck me, and, for the second time, I saw that they produced on the Sorbonne professor the same paralysing effect. Monsieur Darzac’s first anxiety showed itself when he turned his eyes in the direction of Daddy Jacques. But, occupied as he was at another window, he had seen nothing. Then tremblingly opening his pocket-book he put the piece of paper into it, sighing: “My God!”
During this time, Rouletabille had mounted into the opening of the fire-grate—that is to say, he had got upon the bricks of a furnace—and was attentively66 examining the chimney, which grew narrower towards the top, the outlet67 from it being closed with sheets of iron, fastened into the brickwork, through which passed three small chimneys.
“Impossible to get out that way,” he said, jumping back into the laboratory. “Besides, even if he had tried to do it, he would have brought all that ironwork down to the ground. No, no; it is not on that side we have to search.”
Rouletabille next examined the furniture and opened the doors of the cabinet. Then he came to the windows, through which he declared no one could possibly have passed. At the second window he found Daddy Jacques in contemplation.
“Well, Daddy Jacques,” he said, “what are you looking at?”
“That policeman who is always going round and round the lake. Another of those fellows who think they can see better than anybody else!”
“You don’t know Frederic Larsan, Daddy Jacques, or you wouldn’t speak of him in that way,” said Rouletabille in a melancholy68 tone. “If there is anyone who will find the murderer, it will be he.” And Rouletabille heaved a deep sigh.
“Before they find him, they will have to learn how they lost him,” said Daddy Jacques, stolidly69.
At length we reached the door of The Yellow Room itself.
“There is the door behind which some terrible scene took place,” said Rouletabille, with a solemnity which, under any other circumstances, would have been comical.
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1
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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3
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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4
concierges
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| n.看门人，门房( concierge的名词复数 ) | |
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5
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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6
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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7
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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8
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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9
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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10
invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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assassinate
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| vt.暗杀，行刺，中伤 | |
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14
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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15
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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16
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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registrar
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| n.记录员，登记员；(大学的)注册主任 | |
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accomplices
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| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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reptiles
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| n.爬行动物，爬虫( reptile的名词复数 ) | |
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sculptors
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| 雕刻家，雕塑家( sculptor的名词复数 )； [天]玉夫座 | |
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funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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lavatory
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| n.盥洗室，厕所 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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43
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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45
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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46
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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47
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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48
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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deviated
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| v.偏离，越轨( deviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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54
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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58
charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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59
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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crucibles
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| n.坩埚，严酷的考验（ crucible的名词复数 ） | |
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implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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65
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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66
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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68
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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